Writer in a Drawer challenge fics
by thesilversun
Summary: This is a set of 10 short fics written for a challenge comm. Some gen, some het, some slash, nothing graphic though, and all pairings mentioned are canon ones. Each fic has its own description/spoiler warning/list of prompts used at start.
1. On nights such as this

Title: On nights such as this.

Rating: G

Warnings/Spoilers: None

Original prompts were: Girls's night in, female characters only, must take place in the Hub, less than 250 words.

* * *

Tosh's footsteps echo dully through the deserted Hub, the click clack of her low heels on the metal gratings stand out in sharp contrast against the soft mechanical hum of the computers.

Once, Tosh thinks a little dejectedly, as she hangs up her coat, on nights such as this, Suzie would have stayed late, would've kept her company as she ran the monthly deep level security scans of the Hub's computers.

Smiling faintly at the memory, Tosh sits down at her workstation and takes sip of her coffee. It had been a regular thing once, her and Suzie's talking and working late into the night. It had been their girl's night in, a much needed piece of normality, or at least an attempt at it, in their otherwise crazy lives.

Finishing her drink Tosh glances over at Suzie's workstation, remembering how they used to sit there and commiserate about the lack of romance in their lives, laugh at how the latest sci-fi blockbuster had got it all wrong, and make wild plans for holidays that they knew they'd never have time to take.

Suzie's workstation is dark now, the monitors dead and blank, and the tabletop, for the first time that Tosh can remember, is clear of work. In fact all traces, good or bad, that Suzie Costello ever worked there have been removed.

It doesn't stop the memories though, and sighing, Tosh looks away.


	2. The strangest of days

Title: The strangest of days  
Characters: Harriet Derbyshire.  
Rating: G  
Warnings/Spoilers: To the last man.

Original prompts: diary or report format based on a series 2 event, mention of the weather, less than 400 words.

* * *

Today has been the strangest of days, and I do not write that lightly given the impossible things that I have seen since I entered into employment with the Torchwood Institute.

Yet today I have witnessed a man travel in time, an occurrence that has lead him to now be present in two places at once. It is the oddest thing to know that Private Brockless is both here at the Hub, sleeping a frozen sleep, and yet at the same time he is still at St Teilo's hospital, waiting for the day when he will return to his regiment.

How he was returned to this time, or the name of woman whom I saw but briefly, I do not know, and perhaps it is something that never will. It is, however, my fondest hope that she has returned as safely to her own time as Private Brockless has to his.

The knowledge that he will be able to continue with his life and that it has not been stolen from him by either the actions of the Rift or Torchwood itself is a source of comfort to me. For so often it seems we fight against insurmountable odds, and that every small victory that we gain is tinged with tragedy, whether that be at personal cost to ourselves or to those around us.

That today was without such mishap is a blessing, although I have to admit in the moments leading up to Private Brockless' return and for a short while afterwards, the Rift seemed to suffer a great disturbance, and both Mr Carter and I feared the worst. It was as if a great storm were tearing through the very fabric of time itself. It was at once both fascinating and fearful. Then, almost as soon as this 'timestorm' was begun, it was over, and we were able to leave in the confusion that was left in its wake.

So, despite the strangeness and the ever present danger this job presents to both me and my colleagues, it is days like today when all goes right, that make it worthwhile, and I would not change it for the world.


	3. Choices made

**Title:** Choices Made  
**Spoilers:** Series 1  
**Rating:** PG

Prompts for this were: Physical superpowers, a book and less than 500 words.

* * *

Ianto finds the vial in the archives, on one of the long nights he spends working there, too fearful about Lisa's health and the risk of discovery to go home and rest.

It's small, plain, and seemingly insignificant, yet the silvery liquid it contains seems to glow in the dim light. With it is an old, leather bound journal, its pages yellowed with the passage of time. It details the work carried out on the substance in the eighteen-eighties by one time Torchwood operative Professor Percival Chown. Who had, after extensive study, concluded that the substance was 'fantastical in origin and bestowed the imbiber with both strength and senses the like of which God never meant man to possess.'

After reading it and smiling at the man's overly florid language, Ianto places it back on the shelf, but not before adding his own note to the vial: 'superman in a tin.' Laughing, Ianto returns to Lisa, wondering if sleep deprivation has finally stripped him of what little sense he had.

It isn't until after the events of Brynblaidd, when Ianto once more wanders the archives at night, trying to outrun sleep and its inevitable nightmares, that he notices it again.

Tempting, seductive, it offers him power, the strength to protect his friends, to never again be helpless in the face of such horror as that village or Canary Wharf, the strength to stop it from ever happening again.

He doesn't though, he can't, there's too much to lose, his friends, his life, Jack.

The temptation remains, and three days after Jack's disappearance, when the Hub is finally empty, exhaustion having driven Owen, Tosh and Gwen home, Ianto takes it.

Sitting on Jack's bed, more tired, scared and alone than he will admit, even to himself, he drinks it. The effect is instant and it burns through his veins, changing him, and he cries out, although no one is there to hear him.

Eventually it abates and he lies there panting, listening to the sounds of the Hub and of the city far above him. Sounds that normally he wouldn't be able to hear, and he knows that it has worked.

Smiling faintly, Ianto wonders if this is the stupidest thing that he's ever done, before deciding that it really doesn't matter, because this isn't about him. He'll keep them safe, protect them until Jack returns, and that is enough.


	4. Those left behind

Title: Those left behind.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: S1 and Exit Wounds.

Episode title used: Memorial Day.Prompts: The title of a West Wing episode, a coin and less than 500 words

* * *

Walking quickly along the rain soaked streets, Ianto tries not to look at the skyline ahead of him, which seems strangely bare now that Torchwood Tower has been demolished. After a while he slows, there's no point hurrying, he knows that he's missed them, that he's late, and given what today is that seems rather unforgivable.

Two years have passed since the battle of Canary Wharf, and he wonders how many of the survivors, if they could really be called that, had been present for this year's memorial.

Not that it's a proper memorial, he thinks bitterly, as he arrives at the rubble strewn plot where Torchwood Tower had once stood. There wouldn't have been any remembrance service, nor any speeches about how those who had died had done so serving their county. No, they had all been quietly forgotten, just a few more nameless deaths by Torchwood.

He shakes his head, unable to separate the anger and the grief. This year it seems doubly hard, coming as it does just a scant few weeks after Owen and Tosh's deaths. He'd been beginning to put his life back together, starting to feel whole again, and now everything has been torn apart, every emotion once more as raw and open as it was two years ago.

Sitting down amidst the rubble he stares melancholy at the grey rain-washed city that had, for a while at least, been his home. Today it looks as bleak as he feels, and it seems impossible that this place which had once been full of people, with all their hopes and dreams, can now be so dead and empty.

Closing his eyes he can see it as it was, remembers how on his first day working there, he'd met Lisa out in the car park. He'd dropped his wallet, coins falling out and rolling everywhere, and she'd stopped to help him pick them up, it had seemed like fate.

He smiles, knowing the wetness on his cheeks isn't just rain. Not that it matters, it's just a relief to be able to let go for once.

Lost amongst memories, Ianto doesn't realise that he's no longer alone until a familiar voice asks him, "This seat taken?"

Startled he looks up. Standing in front of him is Jack, his hair and greatcoat soaked through from the incessant rain. "Jack, I…"

"It's hard always being the one left behind." He smiles wearily, his eyes filled with more understanding and loss than Ianto thinks anyone should have to bear.

There seems to be no need for words after that. Not that Ianto thinks he could find any even if he needed to, either about what he's feeling or about just how much he appreciates Jack being there for him right now.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder amongst the ruins, they find, for now at least, a sort of comfort in the knowledge that they're not alone.


	5. The best of intentions

Title: The best of intentions.  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Adrift (02X11)

Prompts: The phrase "Add insult to injury" and a television programme, 300 words or less.

* * *

Andy switches off his mobile with a sigh, and slouches back on the sofa.

It's been a rough few days, and he's no nearer finding out what the hell Gwen, or more likely Torchwood, have said to Nikki Bevan. All he knows is, that whatever was said, it's made a bad situation worse.

And the fact that however he looks at it, and however much he tries to rationalise it, it all comes back to it being mostly his fault, is not a pleasant feeling. He'd really thought he'd be helping her by bringing Gwen in on the investigation and getting a fresh pair of eyes to look over the evidence.

All he's had since then is a distraught phone call from Nikki telling him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone and never help her again.

He stares at his phone for a long moment, wondering for about the tenth time if he should call Gwen, and ask her straight out what's going on, what she saw on that island, and why she thinks it's okay to lie to him.

Shaking his head he tosses the phone onto the coffee table. There's no point in even trying, he knows that from experience, all he'll get is friendly, empty banter and an invitation to go to the pub with her and Rhys. An invitation he knows she'll cancel at the last minute telling him 'something's come up at work.' Then he'll be left with a wasted evening and nothing to do but stay in and be bored to death watching EastEnders.

It's all Torchwood's fault, he thinks with some annoyance. They're changing her, making her cold and hard. But it won't work, he tells himself, Gwen's smart, she'll come to her senses.

He just hopes he right.

* * *

Authors note:

This marks the half-way point in Writer in a Drawer challenge, and somehow I'm still in, having got through five rounds of voting which has seen the number of writers drop from 52 to 24.

I can't believe I've made it this far :) So thank you to everybody who has been reading and I will continue to add story to this for as long as I'm still in the contest.


	6. The things we do

Title: The things we do.  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Ianto, Owen.  
Warning/Spoilers: Day in the Death and Fragments, although this is set before Fragments.

Prompts: Busted (somebody's found doing something they shouldn't be), an art or craft, and 400 words or less.

* * *

It isn't so much that somebody is taking office supplies, Ianto really has no problem with people wandering off with a few pens or a packet printer paper, just that he'd prefer them to let him know first.

It's the principle of the thing really, and this being Torchwood what starts with snaffling a few pens could quite easily end with somebody taking a home portable nuclear device and leaving a Cardiff shaped crater behind them.

What Ianto hadn't expected was for Owen to be the culprit, nor for him to be sneaking into the Hub at 3am to do so.

Standing in the shadows he waits until Owen has walked past him before tapping him on shoulder, saying, "You know some people would consider that stealing."

Startled, Owen swears, dropping the paper.

"Why paper?" Ianto asks, picking it up.

"I've developed an uncontrollable origami fetish," Owen says sarcastically.

Ianto laughs, "And here was me thinking it was something strange."

"If you must know," Owen snaps, "there's this girl, Maggie."

Ianto rolls his eyes. Some things never change.

"Not like that, you're getting as bad as Jack. She was up on a rooftop ready to jump and I talked her down. Anyway we talked a bit more after that and I said help her out with a few things. There's this club she goes to, a help group for people who've lost someone. I volunteered to help print up the newsletter for them. Only I forgot I'd trashed a lot of stuff in my flat – including my printer."

"Smart move," Ianto says wryly, before asking, "So why'd you volunteer? It doesn't sound like something you'd do."

"Because I know what it's like, I've lost…people." Owen voice is oddly flat and he doesn't meet Ianto's eyes.

"Diane?"

"Katie. My fiancé."

"I'm sorry." Ianto wishes it didn't sound so inadequate.

"What? You thought you'd got the monopoly on dead girlfriends, did you?" There's bitterness, but no anger behind it, and Ianto lets it go.

The awkwardness between them is almost palpable, and Owen scuffs his feet, an unconscious gesture of his wish to escape further conversation.

It's Ianto that breaks the silence saying, "If you want any help, organising stuff I mean, I could help."

Owen shakes his head, "Nah, it gives me something to do. Anyway, why are you here so late?"

Ianto smiles, and turns to leave, "Jack. Goodnight, Owen."


	7. Free Fall

Title: Free Fall.  
Character: Owen.  
Rating: PG-13 for language and implied sex.  
Spoilers: Out of Time (01x10)  
Prompts: Wasted (Somebody is more than a little intoxicated), an Olympic sport, and 500 words or less.

* * *

Owen stumbles out of a pub and into the cold December night, not wishing to be part of the enthusiastic countdown to the New Year that has just started inside.

Around him Cardiff city-centre is buzzing with life, the streets, despite the late hour, are thronged with people, all seemingly happy in their chosen celebrations.

If he were just a little bit drunker, he tells himself, as he reels through the streets, leaning against walls and shop fronts, he'd tell them all what a load of crap it all is, how all the smiles and laughter are just covers for the lies that everybody tells.

A group of young women, coatless despite the cold, pass him. The last, a brunette, turns and looks back, smiling at him, before she is lost in the crowd.

He kicks a discarded can viciously, angry at the irony of it. One way or another they all leave him, either emotionally, physically or both, and the result is always the same, he's left alone and feeling like shit. Why had he thought what he'd had with Diane would end any different?

Deciding that if he's still thinking then he's definitely not drunk enough, he pushes into the next club he finds. It takes him a few minutes to realise that it's the same gay club that Jack had dragged him to during the course of an investigation a few months back, trying catch an alien who'd been spiking drinks.

Downing a couple more shots at the bar he heads for the dance floor. The press of bodies is stifling and the floor seems to tip and roll beneath his feet. For reasons that temporarily escape him he's reminded of being on the diving board, high up over the pool, back at a school swimming lesson. He thinks maybe it's something about falling.

Sure, professional athletes could make it look graceful, leaping off the high board, waiting for the judges to hold up their cards, but all it is, in Owen's opinion, is a fancy way of falling.

He doesn't fall though as a guy grabs hold of him, steadying him. "You okay, mate?"

"Yeah." He's tall and blond and male and everything Diane isn't. So despite the fact that the club still seems to swim, Owen knows he's found his distraction for the evening and starts to move against him, hips pressing close.

After a moment the guy seems to get the message, and shouts over the music into Owen's ear something that sounds like 'fuck.'

Owen nods and lets the guy lead him outside. He's vaguely aware that this could be a bad idea, but comes to the conclusion that his whole life up to this point has been one continuous bad idea so one more isn't likely to make any difference.

Pulling the guy in for a kiss, Owen decides that if his life is going into free fall, then he might as well enjoy himself on the way down.

* * *

Author's note: I got through this round (seven) of writer in a drawer, next round is a free round with nobody being voted out and then it'll be round eight, the last round before we get down to the quarter finals. So there will be at least two more fics from me for writer in a drawer, and possibly as many as five if I make it all the way to the final round.

Anyway, whatever happens it's all been a lot of fun.


	8. Memories Old and New

Titles: Memories Old and New.

Rating: G

Spoilers: Slight for Something Borrowed and From Out Of The Rain.

Prompts: An unexpected day off. A grooming product. 400 words or less.

* * *

Ianto is halfway through his morning routine of shower, shave, and make coffee, when Jack calls him.

A little panicked and with his face still smeared with shaving foam he answers, his stomach twisting with the sudden fear that his secret has been discovered.

The call, however, is brief, and Jack sounds a little distant as he informs Ianto that he's giving the team the day off. Jack, Ianto knows, will have his reasons for keeping them away from the Hub today, reasons that he won't share with any of them, however much they ask. But Ianto doesn't mind, after all everybody is entitled to their secrets.

It only takes a second though for his initial relief that Lisa is safe to be replaced by worry, as he realises that he'll not be able to check on her today. He knows the systems will keep her alive, but he hates the thought of her being all alone.

He wishes he could phone Jack back and persuade him not to make him take today off, but he knows he can't do that without arousing suspicion.

He supposes that he could spend the day unpacking, something that he's not had time to do, but looking around his flat seems suddenly small and oppressive and he knows he's got to get out.

Wiping his face and pulling on old faded jeans and a jumper he hurries out into the blustery late autumn morning, walking off with no clear destination in mind.

His meandering route takes him passed the Electro Cinema. Boarded up now it's just another decaying reminder of happier times. Although a 'For Sale' sign on its wall offers some hope for it's future.

He walks on, down through Bute Park and into Grangetown where his father's shop had once stood. Now a bookshop, its exterior has changed little, and Ianto finds it reassuring that no matter how much some things change, others stay the same. He hopes it current owner is as happy there as his father was.

Finally, and now a little foot sore, he arrives at the pier in Penarth. Here everything is just as he remembers it, nothing has changed and he can feel his spirits lifting as he looks out at the sea.

He'll bring Lisa here once she's well again, he tells himself, as he leans on the railing, smiling. It's just a matter of time.


	9. Lost and Found

Well this is it the last of my entries for writer in a drawer as I was voted out with this one, or rather the writer with most negative votes played her immunity card that she'd won in an earlier round, and so it was me, as the person with the next most negative votes, who was out. That said this is not my best piece of work, so I probably deserved it.

Having said that it's been fun, and I'll probably enter the contest again, well that is it runs again, which it probably will, but not until later this year.

* * *

Title: Lost and Found.  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Ianto, Owen.  
Spoilers: End of Days 01x13  
Prompts: Innovative - something is being used for a purpose other than what it was intended for. A hand gesture, and 600 words or less.

One minute he'd been helping Ianto lift a crate out of the SUV, the next Owen had woken up on a mountainside, in the rain, with Ianto asleep across his legs.

That had been about half an hour ago by Owen's reckoning, although he can't be sure as his and Ianto's watches, and phones have stopped working, presumably as a result of their teleportation.

Since then all they have done is argue about the best course of action, their already strained friendship fading fast.

"We should stay here," Ianto says firmly, sitting down on a boulder, "Tosh will be able to calculate…"

"Calculate what?" Owen snaps, pushing cold hands into the pockets of his jeans and wishing that he jacket wasn't still laying on the back seat of the SUV. "You've got no idea how we got here or where here is, we could be in Outer bloody Mongolia or Timbuktu for all you know."

Ianto looks like he is going to argue for a moment, then he hangs his head, saying quietly, "You're right, we might not even be on Earth."

Any elation that Owen might have felt about Ianto telling him he is right is quashed by the fear that he could be right, and that they might never see home again.

"Jack would know what to do," Ianto says wanly as he looks around at their bleak, and featureless surroundings.

"Well Jack's not here, Jack pissed off and left us," Owen says angrily, although whether that anger is directed at Jack for leaving or Ianto for mention him he's really not sure.

Ianto glares at him, hands clenched into fists, fighting to control his temper, "Fine, lets get going then."

They walk in silence, following a ridge of high ground, hoping to see some signs of life.

The ridge gets narrower, the slate scree is loose beneath their feet, and Owen is about to suggest that they should find another route when the ground slips from under him and he is sliding, and then falling down the slope.

A moment later and Ianto is scrambling down the slope after him, crouching down next to him as they reach the bottom.

Striping off his tie, Ianto is bandaging Owen's hand almost before he realises that he has done any damage to it.

"You've ruined it, you know." Owen looks at the blood that has already soaked through the silk.

"It doesn't matter." Although something in his tone suggests that it really does.

"Jack gave you it didn't he?"

Ianto just smiles faintly and nods, then helps Owen to his feet and over to a depression in the rock face.

There is precious little protection offered by the overhang, but it's enough to shelter them from the biting wind.

"Did I ever tell you how much I hate the bloody countryside?" Owen complains as sits down on the damp rocks.

"Only about a million times." Ianto settles at the front of the overhang, protecting Owen from the worst of the weather.

Owen hadn't been aware that he'd fallen asleep, only of closing is eyes for a moment, until he's jostled awake by Ianto standing up and shouting, "Here, we're over here." And, to Owen's amazement, mostly at why on Earth he has it with him, trying to use his stopwatch to reflect beams of light from their torches and catch their attention.

An hour later, and finally something like warm again, Owen sits in the back of the SUV, looking at Ianto who has fallen asleep, glad for once that he's there.


	10. It's the little things that remind me of

Now this one was written as a part of the practice round of writer in a drawer, but since it is sort of part of the contest I thought it would be best to include it here.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading, it's been a lot of fun.

* * *

Title: It's the little things that remind me of you.  
Pairing/s: Jack/Ianto, although if more of a friendship fic that anything else, mentions of past Ianto/Lisa.  
Spoilers: Series one to Countrycide.  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Who ever said breakfast in bed was romantic?  
Prompts used: Quote: "I think I saw a porno like this once." A breakfast food and 500 words or less.

"I think I saw a porno like this once," Jack says conversationally, placing a tray down on Ianto's bedside table. "Two men, a nice big bed…"

"Well unless it involved bruised ribs." Sitting up with a groan, Ianto looks at the bowl on the tray with some distaste, before adding sharply. "And what appears to be porridge, I really don't think it could have been all that similar."

"I was just trying to cheer you up."

"Well I don't need cheering up," Ianto snaps, ignoring Jack's sulky tone. It had been Jack's idea to stay the night, to keep Ianto company after what had happened at Brynblaidd. Ianto's grateful for that, he really is, it's just that he hadn't expected, or wanted Jack to bring him breakfast in bed.

"So, how do you like your porridge?" Jack holds a spoon of sugar over one of the bowls.

"I don't, and anyway I'm not hungry. I'll just have coffee." Ianto reaches for the mug, getting halfway before his injured ribs start to protest.

"You should try to eat something." Jack hands Ianto the coffee before he further aggravates his injuries.

"Why? I don't normally bother with breakfast."

"I thought I told you that you should eat properly"

"No, you told me to eat more vegetables. Nobody eats vegetables for breakfast," Ianto says irritably.

Sitting down on the end of the bed, Jack watches Ianto for a moment before asking, "So you really don't eat anything for breakfast?"

"No, just coffee." Ianto hadn't expected, and certainly doesn't appreciate, getting the third degree about what he does or doesn't have for breakfast.

"Your coffee might be the best in Wales, but it's not food."

Ianto smiles faintly, but doesn't answer. He used to eat breakfast, him and Lisa. It had always been a bit of a mad rush trying to get dressed, make coffee and eat at the same time. So at weekends they'd always made a point of having an unhurried breakfast, sometimes in bed, sometimes just sat around in their dressing gowns on the sofa, it had been their little piece of heaven.

Now even attempting to have breakfast brings back so many painfully happy memories that he can't bear to put himself through it on a daily basis. You didn't, couldn't, to Ianto' s way of thinking spend the best part of three years with somebody without having dozens small things become so associated with them. Things that were so much a part of who they were, that it hurts to see, taste, touch or hear those things knowing that you will never again share those thing with them.

Closing his eyes, Ianto wonders, if one day it will ever get any easier.

"What's wrong?" Jack sounds concerned, "If you're in pain I can call Owen, get him over here."

Ianto shakes his head. "No, it's just…" He doesn't want to be sharing this with anyone, not yet, and maybe not ever. "It's nothing, I'm not a morning person that's all."


End file.
